


Integration (REPOSTED)

by mousaerato



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Aftercare, Biting, Breathplay, Communication, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, M/M, Manhandling, Power Play, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2019-10-07 23:34:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17375309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mousaerato/pseuds/mousaerato
Summary: Being exactly who and what you are with anyone is a risk. But with any risk, there's the possibility of reward.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this in December of 2016. At the end of 2018, I received several comments about my works and general writing skill that really did a number on me. In a fit of anxiety, I deleted all my shuakeshu independent works, as I was only able to see the flaws and the failings in them. Two friends in the fanfic and Persona 5 community came to me today and asked me to put them back up.

Akechi Goro couldn’t believe it was real sometimes. Even after months of living this reality, he still found himself consciously refocusing his eyes to look at his surroundings, cautiously brushing his hands against the furniture and photographs, and quickly initiating hugs “for no particular reason” with his new roommate. Even with the regular reminders, the young man found that he still had unusual moments of clarity where he was acutely aware of his own body and everything around it, overwhelming his senses and making him feel displaced from time.

                His bare feet were making light contact with acrylic fibers – not wool, he noted – as were the backs of his legs. A warm, dense weight pressed firmly against the outer flanks of them, dulled by two layers of light cotton, one of which clung to his body. His back had a similar sensation: warmth emanating from behind it, still perceptible under layers of material, only one of which was upon his form. A similarly dense mass weighed around his right shoulder, and along his right wrist, he could feel pads of skin brushing against his own flesh. The clean, pungent smell of soap wafted to his nose from above his head, coupled with the scent of familiar skin. His right ear was pressed faintly against the source of warmth, letting him hear a faint thumping coupled with the occasional sound of air moving. He could even feel the rhythmic rise and drop of a mass near his neck and shoulders…

                A snap of fingers near his eyes forced them open, prompting him to shake his head to reorient himself. He felt the vibrations against his skin before he heard the low, dulcet voice: “Hey. You’re not falling asleep, are you?”

                The brown-haired boy looked upward first to see a pale face, pitch black curls, steel-colored eyes, and a relaxed smile directed to him. He felt the world come back into focus again as he offered a laugh in response before looking around in front of him to see the vivid cobalt of the couch fabric, his feet, his legs that were covered in rust red pajama pants, his boyfriend’s feet in white socks, and that same boy’s legs wearing green lounge pants. A quick glance to the right confirmed that the black-haired boy’s fingers, starkly contrasting the black shirt above them, were lazily tracing his wrist underneath his white shirt. It was times exactly like these that Goro needed the reminder that everything was real.

                “I was just zoning out,” Goro started with a teasingly defensive tone in his voice. “What, am I too heavy for you?”

                “I thought maybe I was boring you.”

                Comments like that were always a source of (irrational) fear for the detective. He quickly sputtered an answer in the negative, attempting to soothe him. “Akira, you would never bor-”

                Kurusu Akira replied wordlessly at first with a hug, holding the young man in his lap tightly to his chest. “Don’t panic,” he started. “I’m not upset.”

                He did always know what to say. “Th-thanks,” Goro answered shakily. He was grateful that his boyfriend understood him so completely and compassionately. He knew his concerns over being abandoned and replaced were baseless from a cognitive standpoint, but from an emotional one, it was a constant threat. One wrong glance, one wrong word, one iota removed from perfect, and he still feared that the sense of security he felt would be pulled out from underneath of him. Autonomously, Goro looked upward again to Akira and gave him a quick peck on the lips. The physical affirmations were always a good way to remind himself that this was real.

                “So,” Akira started, “You got to ask me stuff last time. It’s my turn, right?”

                “That was the agreement,” Goro replied cheerfully. He shifted in Akira’s grip, turning to press their torsos together to look him directly in the face. “What’s the question?”

                Akira’s eyes closed tightly for a moment, as if he was trying to find the strength for the question. The two of them had agreed to be completely honest with each other, even turning it into a game: they each got one question a week. The questioner had to agree not to be upset or judgmental about the answer, but in return, the person answering would give completely accurate and honest information to the best of their ability. His voice started slowly: “So…on the ship.”

                Goro averted his gaze, looking downward for a moment in shame. His hand found Akira’s, which he grabbed firmly with a squeeze. “Yeah?”

                “You…um, did this… _thing_ ,” he struggled to find the right words – Goro couldn’t discern if it was the terminology or the emotion attached to the words that confounded the dark-haired boy.

                “The berserking thing?” Goro’s voice was steady, but thin.

                “Yeah, that,” Akira replied quickly, seemingly relieved. They both exhaled, glad the conversation wasn’t going somewhere else from that day. Of all the topics from that December evening, this was most likely the lightest, on the surface. “I wanna know…what did that feel like?”

                The question unsettled Goro; the discomfort played on his face as he winced instinctively. He sighed bitterly as he struggled to find the words for a proper answer. Akira squeezed his hand again, assuring him it was okay. “Is this too hard of a question?”

                “No,” he said as he shook his head slightly, “It’s just…a complicated question.”

                “Take as long as you need,” he assured, placing his hands firmly at Goro’s hips, rubbing at his sides encouragingly.

                Goro took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying his best to find the right words. Slowly and in fractured sentences, pieces of thoughts, he found them: “Well…for shadows, I don’t know – I mean, I can’t know. I…assume it must have been painful, with the screaming…” He opened his eyes to read Akira’s expression: his eyes were clear, steady, and nonjudgmental. Drawing strength from his boyfriend’s resolve, Goro continued.

                “But if you mean on me – which I guess is the question – just….” His voice stopped, throat dry.

                Akira rubbed Goro’s back softly. “You can tell me anything.”

                 “If I said I enjoyed it, would that sound too weird?”

                Akira’s breath hitched slightly as his hands slowly smoothed down Goro’s back again, settling just above his backside. “N-no,” he stammered abruptly. “Not at all.”

                “I’ve never been on drugs, and I’ve only ever had one drink, but…it was  _intoxicating_. That’s the best word.”

                “How?” Akira’s voice was… _strained,_ and deeply curious. His hands dug ever so slightly into Goro’s sides, more possessively than before.

                The detective closed his eyes and tried to shut out the surroundings as he cleared his mind and focused on that memory. In measured, soft tones, he started again. “It was like any sense of right or wrong was gone. It was…light-years away, faded. The scenery was gone – all that was there was what I wanted. Any sense of choice or decision-making was out the window – it was like sheer  _will_ was in my veins. And the  _power_ …I think I could have pulled someone’s limbs from their sockets, easily. And I probably would have felt great doing it. It was as if the only thing that mattered was the last thing I craved before I went under, and I had suddenly been given all the power in the world to do it however I wanted. It was incredible, actually. Nothing else matt-”

                His speech was interrupted by the sound of slow, ragged breathing and the sensation of a hand on his ass.  Startled, Goro opened his eyes to discover Akira’s face had begun to turn red. Suddenly aware of his boyfriend’s glare, Akira sheepishly avoided his gaze by looking downward.

                “I know we promised no judgment,” Goro started, “but…what the  _fuck?_ ” He brought his hands to Akira’s face to remind him to look him in the eyes.

                “I…” he started, voice straining from his body being overheated, “please keep talking.”

                Goro shifted slightly between his boyfriend’s legs, and it became obvious very quickly what was happening. He felt his own face blush then out of some combination of shame, anxiety, and arousal before stared right into those gunmetal eyes: “Are you serious?”

                There was fire in those earthy eyes, one of curiosity and some anger, certainly. But after all this time, the black-haired trickster knew the real emotion beneath them was  _passion._ “It sounds hot,” he admitted as he brought one hand up to card through Goro’s brown hair.

                “It sounds  _dangerous_ ,” he corrected quickly before gasping softly. Without any warning, Akira’s lips had found their way to his neck, humming into the skin with affirmation.

                “That just makes it sound more exciting,” he retorted. “Besides, it felt good for you, right?”

                “Mm- yes,” he confessed, voice uneven. Everything felt too warm suddenly, out of his control. He had to remain calm, remain perfect, remain wanted. “But…”

                As if he was able to read Goro’s mind, Akira interrupted him: “I want _you_ , not some…cleaned up version of you. I don’t want a doormat.”

                Goro recognized his own arousal, but still tried to ignore it in the name of rationality. “I could really hurt you, you know.”

                “How badly.” His voice was flat, as if he negotiating a foregone conclusion instead of making a request.

                “I don’t know.”

                “I can handle myself,” Akira offered with a slight chuckle.

                “You – do you know even know what you’re asking?”

                “Well, you said it works by making you focus on the last thing you really desired and thought about, right?”

                Goro looked down to see a devious smile on Akira’s lips. Slowly, they were both coming to the same conclusion. With the anxiety melting from his voice, Goro responded coyly: “Yes…in fact, it’s the  _only_ thing I can really think about.”

                “Let me see you like that.”

                The bluntness of the request sent a shockwave of arousal and fear through the brunette. “What do you want… _exactly_?” The possibilities and calculations were running through his mind as he waited for details to fill in the gaps.

                “Rough me up.”

                “Be more specific.” His glare became more scrutinizing, taking in each detail of the curly-haired youth’s face as he spoke.

                “Bruises, at least.”

                “‘At  _least?_ ’” He knew Akira was a thrill-seeker and an adrenaline junkie, but  _this…_

“I like being sore afterwards,” he confessed. Goro couldn’t stop himself from exhaling a small moan when Akira gave him the most direct, blunt answer, whispered directly in his ear: “Do whatever you want with me.”

                “Not without proper preparation,” he said playfully. Being able to merge his rational thoughts with his more feral ones was quite fun, he noted. “I…don’t want to hurt you too much. Not permanently.” Through a singular act of will, Goro managed to extricate himself from his sweetheart’s grip, finally sitting properly on the couch. This was the time for careful planning.

                “I’ll take your gun,” Akira started as he also straightened up to sit upright, feeling like he was planning a raid. “I’ll lock it up so you can’t use it.”

                “Obviously, this would have to be in the Palace, so – ”

                “Your other weapons, too, yeah.”

                “You might get severely injured –”

                “That’s the plan,” Akira interrupted.

                “… _So_ ,” continued Goro, mildly annoyed and mildly turned on, “First aid kit, definitely.”

                “Extra bandages…burn cream-”

                “ _Burn cream?”_

                “Like, friction burn.”

                “You’ve…thought about this before, haven’t you,” Goro said curiously.

                “Guilty.” Akira had no shame in his voice at all.

                Goro placed a hand on Akira’s thigh, eliciting a small huff of surprise as he raked along the skin with his blunt nails, just hard enough to give a jolt of pain. Without even looking over at the boy, Goro murmured with a sense of relief, “So have I.”

                The detective could hear the smile in Akira’s voice as he giddily continued the preparations: “So…do we need anything else?”

                “Extra clothes. It wouldn’t hurt to have them.”

                “Sure.”

                “Wait – there  _is_ one thing,” Goro noted as he turned to look at his partner. “What about  _your_ weapons? What if I get a hold of them?”

                “We’ll have to stash them too.”

                “You need something to fight me off. Telling me to stop isn’t going to be enough. No offense…just a precaution.”

                “I can just kick yo-”

                Akira’s suggestion was met with a low,  _dark_ laugh that bit at his stomach, filling him with anticipation. Somehow, the fear only intensified it once Goro spoke: “Trust me. You won’t be able to.” No teasing cadence, no playful lilt – just a statement of cold fact. It sent a chill down Akira’s spine.

                 “Okay,” he managed. “I think I’ve got another idea.”

                “A real one?” Goro said with a smile, back to his normal teasing voice.

                “Yes, a real one. Iwai owes me a favor, and his ties go deeper than you’d think.”

                “Alright then...so, when should we do this, since it’s obvious you’ve wanted this for a while?”

                “Next week. That should be enough time to get what I need.”


	2. Chapter 2

                “Okay, let’s go over this again…” Akechi Goro’s voice was measured and calm as he and Kurusu Akira looked down at the packaged boxes and implements left on the blue, carpeted floor beneath them. There were four white plastic boxes, a large black duffel bag full of extra clothes for them both, a small camel-colored briefcase for Goro’s gun that was locked tight, and a slate-colored suitcase that had been left open, filled with Akira’s knife and gun, as well as Goro’s toy weapons and his serrated blade. What stood out, however, was the pile of small plastic implements laid carefully in isolation from everything else, closer to the boys’ feet: 12 marker-like implements, six of which were painted bright red.  “What do we have? Do we need to get anything else?” His arms were crossed over his chest at first, eventually moving an arm to use a white-gloved hand to survey each item, carefully eyeing every detail before him.

                The boy in the black trench coat couldn’t help but find his thoughtfulness endearing. Understanding the seriousness of the situation, however, Akira joined him in the gradual inventory, kneeling down to open the white plastic boxes to reveal their contents. “Four first aid kits,” he started as he cataloged the contents of each, “antiseptic wipes – ”

                “How many?” Goro inquired firmly.

                “Five in each box, so 20,” Akira shot back quickly as he looked over to the brown-haired detective. “You’re…really serious about this, huh?”

                 “I don’t want any unknown quantities making this more outside my control than it has to be.”

                That shouldn’t have sounded so  _appealing,_ his dedication to near-surgical precision, but Akira was long at peace with many of his thrill-seeking tendencies being contrary to reason. “Okay then,” he started with a slight smile, “Should I just give you the totals or – ”

                “Individual contents, then do the math,” he instructed. His voice was low and filled with purpose – Akira could practically see the plans forming in his head as he spoke, and it was abundantly clear to him from Goro’s staccato intonation that he had no choice but to follow the directions. He always knew his boyfriend had it in him – it was one of the reasons he liked him, after all.

                “25 bandages – adhesive ones,” he added quickly, somehow discerning he wouldn’t be allowed to get away with generalizations. “So we have 100 of those. One roll of cloth tape for a total of four –”

                “How much  _exactly_?”

                The command for specificity hit Akira like a slap. “Nine meters each, so there’s 36 altogether.”

                “Good. Keep going.” The distance in the voice was the first moment Akira recognized that Goro was actually  _looming over him_ instead of kneeling with him for the work. The realization caused the youth on the floor to exhale a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he needed to let out to calm himself.

                 “Three twelve ounce bottles of water...four cloth rags. Two one gram sachets of burn cream, eight total. Five one gram packets of ointment, 20 total. Same with the antiseptics –”

                Another verbal slap. “Don’t get lazy with this.”

                “Five in each, 20 total,” he corrected, suddenly noticing how warm his cheeks felt. He pushed past the anxiety and thrill that shot down his spine and continued with a mild stammer: “Two packets of aspirin, eight total. One cold compress, four total. Two pairs of gloves…eight total,” he paused as he felt a warm hand touch his left shoulder delicately, making his hair stand on end as a single finger traced from his shoulder blade to the back of his neck. Turning, he looked up to see Goro’s face: a restrained kind of half-smile, sienna eyes clear and almost predatorily attentive, taking in every small reaction Akira gave.  

                Goro brought his right hand to Akira’s chin, bringing his clearly-flushed face upward to keep him in his gaze. Smoothly, darkly, and coolly, Goro whispered, “Well? Don’t let me stop you.”

                Hastily, Akira returned to his counting, feeling motivated to do so quickly and efficiently. The numbers came to him surprisingly quickly: “One pair of scissors, four total; two types of roller bandages, eight total; eight individual packages of gauze, 32 total; one pair of tweezers, for a total of four.”

                The boy in princely white loomed over Akira, pressing his chest against his back as he dipped down to grab one of the pens on the floor. “And these?” His voice wasn’t commanding this time, but curious; Akira felt the unspoken tension in his body start to dissipate as he began to recognize signs of the boy he’d been living with slowly return. Goro knelt down next to him finally, picked up a plastic-cased pen to examine it, and continued. “These are from Iwai, I assume?”

                “Yeah.”

                He scrutinized the tip of the device, eyes narrowing. “Auto-injectors?”

                “Mhm,” Akira confirmed. “They’re CANA – well, six of them, anyway.”

                Goro’s face finally revealed some fear, eyes widening as he began to register the reality of what he held in his hand. In a raised whisper, as if trying to keep anyone else from hearing, he asked, “He got these from the American military?”

                “Told you his connections ran deeper than you’d think.”

                “And the red ones?” His words were rushed.

                “Custom-order – he had a supplier modify the CANA. He said I didn’t sound certain that diazepam would be enough. And, well…I really  _wasn’t_  sure it would be enough.”

                “What the  _hell_ did you do for him?”

                “Do you really want to know?”

                Goro paused for a moment to consider. “On second thought...no. Just – tell me what’s in the red ones.”

                “Propofol.”

                Akechi Goro, the trained detective, quickly deduced a line of reasoning for the source of the drug: Akira only had a few days, so Iwai must have had either a personal supply (plausible, but unlikely he’d give his own goods to a business associate, even as a favor) or had connections to a local source (considerably more likely, given the recent news that hospitals had been using it a little too liberally.) Plus, Iwai had them refitted – it had to have been someone with firsthand experience working with such materials. Sure, there was a seedy clinic in town that probably could do it, but he knew that proprietor specialized in custom  _drugs,_ not refitting medical technology. It had to have been an unscrupulous person affiliated with a hospital – that’s how the police got their supplies, after all.

                Goro’s voice softened, uncertain if he should feel disgusted or flattered by the effort. “ _Oh my god._ ”

                “You said you were absolutely certain I wouldn’t be able to fight you off,” Akira explained in a tense voice, attempting to defend himself. “It starts working faster than diazepam – a few seconds might make all the difference. But he did mention that it would  _not_ be a good idea to use both on a person unless it was absolutely necessary.”

                 _Definitely procured from a shady medical professional,_ Goro concluded. “Okay,” he offered, a little shakier than he would have liked.

                “Are you okay?” Akira asked.

                “Just...surprised you got all this.”

                “You were worried, so I got a dozen.”

                “Like a bouquet of flowers,” Goro mused.

                “That’s…one of the reasons why the propofol ones are marked in red,” Akira admitted with a sly smile.

                Goro shook his head as he tried to suppress a smile of his own. “You are… _unbelievable._ ”

                “I don’t hear you complain-”

                Before he could finish his thought, Akira felt two hands tugging at his hair, pulling him forward to press their foreheads together. Goro pressed his hands against the sides of Akira’s head, brushing his cheekbones with his thumbs, ensuring the gray-eyed youth saw every hungry, dark, uninhibited intention in his deep brown eyes. In a breathy, scratchy whisper, Goro commanded him: “Now…go hide those injectors in the next room. And do it  _silently –_ do you understand?”

                Akira’s only reply was a gulp and a barely perceptible nod, overwhelmed by the contrast between his boyfriend’s cold demeanor and his prior warmth. A chill ran through his body as Goro’s gloved fingers traced down his neck, over his Adam’s apple, and down his chest to his coat pocket, feeling at a small plastic bottle contained within. “And…get ready, too,” he murmured, heavy with intent. “I know I won’t have the patience to do it for you.”

                Wordlessly, Akira pulled Goro in for a deep kiss, sliding his tongue into the other boy’s mouth roughly and imprecisely as he tugged at his mahogany locks. Though he didn’t want to, Goro managed to break the kiss, breaking the silence in the room with a loud  _pop_.

                “Get going,” he commanded. With that, Akira gathered up the 12 injectors and strode quickly, noiselessly into the room ahead of them. Sure enough, Goro could hear no shifting of furniture, no ruffling of sheets, or even the opening of any doors. He palmed at himself impatiently, already thinking about what was to come.


	3. Chapter 3

Akira rested flat on his back in a large bed with soft, bone-white sheets, spreading out his limbs lazily. His shoes were already removed, and while he opted to keep his coat on, he decided to keep the bottle of lube on the nightstand next to the bed to have it readily available. He was pretty sure the coat wasn’t going to survive the ordeal, anyway – or at least, he hoped it wouldn’t. Despite his attempt to relax, Akira could feel every fiber of his being alive with a simmering tension and anticipation. He was afraid, he could confess, but excitement of uncertainty overrode it all too easily, leaving it washed away in a wave of hyper-vigilance. He practically jumped out of his own skin when he finally heard Goro’s shoeless footsteps as he entered the room, and he felt himself throb in anticipation when he caught a glimpse of the intruder.

The dark blue and black on his form was the first thing Akira noticed, bringing back memories of the first time he saw it – the fear, the horror, the sense of being overcome by a magnetic, dark charisma. Weeks after it was over, he found that image lurking in his dreams with slightly less murderous intent, looming over him ominously before the sweet spark of pain would arrive, rousing him from sleep filled with lust. He had wanted to ask Goro about it for a while, wondering what he would say – and hoping that maybe hearing it from his own lips would help stop the thoughts. But this…this seemed like a better opportunity for them both, from the black-haired boy’s perspective: no shame, no judgment, and no guilt. While he was excited to have that burden from desiring this lifted from him, Akira knew that his boyfriend needed the guilt of wanting to give this taken away from him much more.

The mask and helmet of the ensemble, like his own mask, had been completely removed, giving Akira the chance to admire the intruder’s chestnut-colored hair and deep brown eyes as their owner slowly closed the space between them to settle on top of him, knees between Akira’s spread legs and dark-gloved fingers laced through his black hair. Akira hissed in anticipation, relishing even the slight indirect pressure the body above him created. Quickly managing to remove his own gloves, Akira placed bare hands on his boyfriend’s hips, urging him wordlessly to quicken the pace of things. His fingers tried fruitlessly to dig into the skin beneath the dark fabric, eventually resorting to raising his own hips in a futile attempt to find some stimulation.

In response, Goro tugged a fistful of Akira’s hair hard enough to pull him back from his desires into reality. His smoke-gray eyes were already hazy with want; Goro couldn’t help but give a small, throaty chuckle at the sight of his sweetheart already coming undone. A smug smile curled onto his face as he watched Akira’s eyes and mouth shut rapidly in response to another yank at his hair, this time earning a small, barely perceptible yelp as well. Goro pulled a little more as he pressed his hips into Akira’s, grinding into him ever so slightly. For Akira, the pain in his head was suddenly a thousand miles away, all conscious thought focused intently on the friction between his legs and the need to get more of it. He gripped Goro’s hips again, covertly attempting to dictate the pace of it all.

With a shallow snap of his hips, Goro separated from Akira before lowering his head to whisper directly into the ear of the boy beneath him: “Wow,” he said with a laugh, “you’re really desperate.”

An undignified groan was Akira’s only response. Encouraged, Goro pushed his hips into the body beneath him again as he brought his face up to watch the pale boy’s features for the tiniest responses. His face was flushed, and with each minuscule movement and pivot of Goro’s hips, Akira struggled to hold back the unbidden responses he knew his lover would savor and taunt him with. The pace was agonizingly slow, and each time Akira felt himself start to lose himself in the brief sparks of pleasure, Goro brought him back with a measured dose of humiliation.

“Your eyes are closed, but I can still tell they’re rolling back in there, you know,” he murmured as he dipped still-gloved digits into Akira’s mouth, pulling at his lower lip. The shock of the sensation forced Akira to open his eyes again to see Goro’s dark, hooded eyes glaring at him. “By the way…you do know you’ve been muttering things to yourself, right?”

Akira attempted an answer, finding his consonants distorted by the firm grip on his lower lip. Goro scoffed at him then, starting, “Pretty close to how you were sounding earli –”

Goro’s arrogance earned him his first act of defiance: a bite to his fingers. He looked down then, almost impressed, to see a glint of teeth with a half-smirk trying to pry his gloves from his hands. Goro wasn’t entirely surprised; after all, he’d seen how much suffering Akira could take in other circumstances.

“Bold,” acknowledged the boy in the cobalt garments as he regained control of his hands, finally removing the gloves and tossing them to the floor.

“Tease,” Akira spat back, still smiling. Goro’s smug countenance revealed a bit of a smile as well.

“Shut up,” he growled, quickly returning his now-bare hands to Akira’s hair, silencing his retorts with a passionate kiss, sucking and biting at his lower lip with full knowledge it would sting. The darker-dressed boy beneath was frenzied, tongue all too eagerly exploring the mouth that had just been spilling insults like intoxicants into his ears. His hands wandered quickly around Goro’s torso, looking for some way to remove at least one layer of fabric that separated them. After planting a few more chaste kisses to his lover’s mouth, the brown-haired boy took the hint, perceiving that it would probably be a good time to rid himself of them before he most likely lost awareness of their very existence. Akira desperately tried to help, calloused fingers following Goro’s lead in peeling away the surprisingly light material until he was left only in a small pair of boxers, similarly dark blue.

“You’ve been wanting this for a while, haven’t you?” Goro asked in a taunting, haughty voice as he straddled Akira’s hips and brought his mouth down to bite teasingly at his neck.

The breathy, low response from the boy beneath him was sublime: “I’ve been wanting you.”

With one more nip to the neck, Goro returned to kissing Akira on the lips. The black-haired boy’s responses were steadier this time, more precise and almost gentle as he brought his body up from the supine position into a sitting one. He broke the first small kiss by skimming the tip of his tongue against Goro’s lips, asking for entrance. The brown-eyed boy allowed it, earning himself a pale hand rubbing at his right hip again as they both became too warm, finding themselves once again all too hungry and eager.

They stopped and took a good, hard look at each other. Akira was sweaty, and his eyes were filled with devotion; Goro knew for himself that at this point, he’d be willing to do anything and everything to keep his beloved looking at him like that. Knowing he had the power to bring Akira to his knees, to exert mental and physical superiority over him, to make the mighty leader take orders for once – those feelings were both exciting and shameful for Goro. Knowing now that they were wanted and could be indulged safely, however…that was a different kind of novelty and excitement.

Pressing his forehead to Akira’s, Goro asked in a heavy voice, “Now?”

“Okay,” whispered Akira in agreement, not even trying to hide the smile that had begun to form on his face.

Wordlessly and without ceremony, the brown-haired boy who was normally the picture of poise and control summoned a taste of that same darkness he had used before. His quiet smile turned into a cackling grin as he brought his left hand down to grab possessively at Akira’s thigh, causing the boy to hiss in pain from the extended pressure. After five seconds of intense, sharp pain, Goro’s hand finally left his lover’s leg while he gradually, slowly caught his own breath from the high he had inflicted upon himself. His eyes were feral for a few moments before they relaxed, pupils dilating as if looking at an object of love and lust.

Just as Akira was about to reach for him for a kiss, Goro’s right hand pinned his body down the bed effortlessly on its own. The black-haired boy winced in pain as he looked up to see a crazed smile playing upon the lips he had just tried to taste, with eyes he could only describe as hungry. Before he could begin to process it all, the dark haired boy felt the now-familiar sensation of having his hair pulled roughly. This, however, was considerably more intense; his whole body was pulled upward and forward, tearing some individual hairs from his head in the process. He exhaled with relief when the hand finally left his head, though his scalp still throbbed persistently. Suddenly, a new feeling overcame him: a hungry, aggressive kiss that sucked at his tongue violently, followed by a sudden bite at his already-sensitive lips. As his paramour deepened the kiss, plunging his tongue further into his mouth, Akira could taste the unmistakable rust-like bitterness of his own blood mixed with their saliva. To call it “sensory overload” would be an understatement; Akira couldn’t think, only feel. He adored it.

The taste of blood grew even as Goro’s lips finally left Akira’s; clearly, he had drawn more than the overwhelmed boy had first managed to discern in the mix of confusion, arousal, and heat. As that predatory mouth moved noisily to suck and bite bruises into his neck, Akira managed to discern the sensation of hands at the lapels of his jacket. He thought to shift around and move to make its removal easier, but the youth still plying his exposed skin with attention made it obvious it wouldn’t be necessary, easily tearing the fabric like it was glorified wrapping paper and tossing the chunks on the floor in an ugly heap. Goro scoffed at Akira’s surprised gasp, arrogantly reminding him as he gave the dark gray waistcoat the same treatment, “I did tell you this would happen...what, did you think I was lying?”

Once his partner’s torso was bare like his own, Goro stopped lavishing his partner’s neck with attention, taking a moment to run a curious finger over the marks to admire their pink and reddish marks, certain they would change to brown and blues later. Akira brought a hand to Goro’s hip, gripping it to steady himself as the other boy pressed into the bruises inquisitively. “You know,” he whispered haughtily as Akira hissed from the pain, “these look good on you.” He brought his head up to look at Akira’s lips, revealing a tiny smear of blood from his mouth. “The red too,” he continued, pausing a moment to bring his left hand down to touch the one holding his side. The simple gesture of warmth – intimacy, even – brought a pleased, surprised sigh from Akira’s mouth, low and soft. Goro looked at his face intently, seeing those same dazed, amorous, practically drunk eyes he had burned into his memory, thrilled and even more aroused. He quickly took up Akira’s wrists into his hands, pressed into the skin with a twist, and leveraged his body weight to press the boy back into the bed, pinning his arms in place.

“But I like this better,” Goro said with a devious smile as he effortlessly rearranged himself, straddling the boy’s hips and feeling his obvious desire. Akira tried again to get some kind of friction and relief, pushing his pelvis upwards with a swivel of his hips, repeating the action in small measures almost autonomously. He was deliriously turned on; the pain, pressure, heat, and sweat had seemingly bled into each other, turning into one blurry pile of arousal. Sentences seemed impossible; even his very thoughts were jumbl-

Another jolt of pain struck Akira as Goro pressed down harder into his wrists. The black-haired boy tried to free himself from the grasp, normally able to get out after a few pushes in retaliation. It became abundantly clear to the boy, even in his seemingly intoxicated state, that the youth on top of him was simply too strong right now. There was no escape possible unless Goro permitted it – and recognizing that only made Akira groan as he struggled futilely to feel the unequivocal power the brown-haired boy had over him.

“Do you like being helpless?”

The pale, trapped boy managed a small nod, unintentionally stimulating the still-blooming bruises on his neck, causing him to shut his eyes violently.

“Answer me,” Goro commanded.

“Nh-Yes,” he replied breathily.

Goro chuckled darkly as he tightened his grip on Akira’s arms, pressing into them with more force to elicit another wince and whine from the pain. As the sadist finally released them, Akira exhaled a sigh of relief, certain there would be dark, stinging and inhibiting bruises on his arms for days after. Those cruel, wonderful hands settled on the sides of Akira’s face then, pulling him back to full attention.

“Good,” he murmured as he ground his hips into his lover’s once more before dismounting him to rest by his side. “Do you want to play a game?”

“Yes,” Akira replied excitedly, much faster than he would have liked.

He traced the sides of his face delicately as he spoke. “How fast can you get the rest of your clothes off?”

Akira didn’t need another hint. He quickly brought his fingers to the buttons of his black slacks, searching for the place to start so he could finally have some relief. Before he could begin undoing the buttons, however, Goro’s hands moved near his mouth and nose, with their owner giving a blunt, abrupt edict: “Breathe.”

The dark-haired boy took a shallow, leisurely breath before realizing that his mouth had been covered and his nose pinched shut. The shock of the sensation left his hands fumbling, mind suddenly focused on saving what air he had left. A strange feeling overcame the fear in a few moments that seemed to stretch: giddiness, followed by disorientation, followed finally by redoubled fear as his lungs began to burn. Even then, his arousal didn’t diminish; in fact, he felt more willing as his cock twitched slightly in his pants.

When Goro released him, the feeling of relief and joy was almost enough to get him off right then and there. He shuddered as he inhaled deeply, feasting on the air he had just been deprived.

“Still dressed,” Goro reprimanded. “Let’s try that again…”

Akira began working quickly, now able to anticipate what would come next. He managed to undo the first two buttons of his black, formal pants before he heard the command again: “Breathe.”

He managed a deep breath this time before Goro’s hands returned to put him under. His eyes stayed open as he worked, getting the last button opened and managing to undo the zipper in its entirety before the fatigue set in. The pale boy had to let his eyes close as he tried to pull the pants down, feeling himself start to shut down.

“Better,” Goro complimented acerbically as he allowed Akira to breathe normally. He watched as the youth by his side frantically tugged at his pants and underwear, finally shaking them loose and kicking them both to the floor before placing his dominant hand firmly around his cock, smearing the precum across the head and relishing the direct stimulation. Still, he looked over at Goro expectantly as he worked – he had never experienced a feeling of deprivation and neediness that way before, and despite the pain and anxiety of it, the sensation of being able to breathe again after was addicting.

“What?” asked Goro, slightly annoyed.

“Can you…”

A cruel, taunting smirk played upon Goro’s face. “You want me to do it again?”

“Please,” he huffed. Hearing Akira actually beg made Goro practically want to take him right then and there.

“You’re a sick fuck,” he cackled gleefully, enjoying being able to leverage so much power over him.

For a reason he couldn’t place himself, Akira found himself giggling and smiling in response to in the insult. All the attention, all the endorphins…they felt good. More than good.

Goro didn’t even give the direction to breathe; he promptly sealed off the airways one more time, watching Akira tense up in anxiety and pleasure as he continued stroking himself until he nearly passed out. When his eyes opened as the air returned to his lungs, Akira found Goro looking at him with a half-lidded, lustful gaze. He pressed their foreheads together as he quietly slipped out of his underwear, leaving both of them completely bare when he spoke again: “You’re really enjoying the pain, aren’t you?”

“Mhm…” he vocalized, seemingly unable to manage anything else.

The brown-eyed boy looked at his paramour’s flushed, sweaty face and gave him a sinister, dark look. “The bed’s too nice for you, then.”

Swiftly, Akira found himself shoved roughly onto the floor in front of the nightstand, falling onto his back with a small thud, feeling the slightest sensation of carpet roughly brushing on the skin of his back and knowing somehow there’d be more. The power-crazed boy loomed over Akira, taking in every detail of his body in admiration of his work: the paler youth was glazed with sweat as his hair stuck to his forehead, his neck was varnished with red and brown splotches, and his whole body seemed to shiver in anticipation, fear, and delight as Goro’s eyes gave him the once-over, lingering a little longer on his cock before finally looking him in the eyes again.

Even in a pleasure-fueled daze, Akira could tell where things were going to go very quickly. He managed to reach an arm up to the small nightstand and grab the bottle he knew he would need before Goro roughly grabbed at his right ankle, dragging him forcibly across the floor like he was a ragdoll to the space in front of the bed. The skin on Akira’s shoulder blades, lower back, and ass stung as the material tore against the sensitive flesh, sending jolts of heat and pain forcibly through his body. He hissed through clenched teeth, closing his eyes momentarily before Goro spoke, thankful he didn’t dislocate anything.

“You’ve got ten seconds. Do you understand?”

Akira opened his eyes to see Goro’s glare on him, menacing and stern. He kneeled over him, leaving his erection in clear view and reach of the boy beneath him. “One…two…”

Yes, Akira understood; he nodded in affirmation as his fingers worked as quickly as possible to open the bottle he had managed to keep his grip on. He worked on Goro’s shaft first, relishing the slight hiss he gave between the numbers he enunciated so sharply, trying not to be too haphazard while doing so. By the time Goro had gotten to “five,” Akira began working on himself, full of fear and arousal as his slicked fingers moved in and out of himself desperately.

At “ten,” Akira didn’t even need the instruction to remove his digits; he did so knowing it would be expected, wiping them in a rush on the carpet to his side before looking up at the brown-haired boy who seemed pleased at his compliance, giving a soft smirk and a hand in his black curls in a gesture that was almost affectionate. In a smooth, low voice, Goro whispered, “Good…”

The hand left Akira’s head to smooth along his thigh, sending a sudden thrill of sensation through his body. The delicate moment was shattered moments later, however, when Goro quickly grabbed up Akira’s thighs, pressing deeply enough into the skin to leave bruises, to bring his legs up to rest on his shoulders. Wordlessly, Goro guided his dick to Akira’s entrance, looking at those gray eyes intently as he gradually sank inside of him. It was at that moment that Goro finally allowed some show of emotion, sighing with relief and contentment as he felt his dick encased by the tight warmth, letting his fingers stray to interlock with his lover’s.

“Yes,” the black-haired boy rasped, squeezing at the hand that had just touched his. The stretch of him and the sudden fullness were both welcome, yet overwhelming. Akira felt his eyes go wide as Goro went deeper into him than he anticipated, causing him to curl his toes anxiously, coupled with a small gasp. He looked at Goro and marveled: his eyes were unfocused and hazy, struggling to keep still inside of him as if trying to savor the pleasure. Finally, the sienna-eyed boy let his eyelids drop entirely, leaving his mouth slightly agape.

“You feel so good,” Goro whispered as he slowly withdrew to thrust back in deeper, settling into a pattern: a torturously slow withdrawal, followed by a brisk stab. The youth with the black curls felt a jolt of pleasure with each sharp thrust, magnified by the pain that shot through him as Goro pinned his arms to the floor, reigniting the old bruises. While Akira didn’t think he could feel more delirious, the sensation of finally being fucked managed to plunge him deeper into his trancelike haze. He closed his eyes and exhaled a throaty groan, all too happy to let his lover do whatever he pleased.

Gradually, the staccato rhythm changed to something steadier, with the brown-haired boy finding the pace he preferred: faster and rougher, occasionally snapping his hips and pushing in deeply with a feral grunt to make the one beneath him clench and whine. He dug his fingers deeper into Akira’s wrists, pressing down into the paler youth with the palms of his hands. Finally, Akira had hit a breaking point – he abruptly screamed in pain, raising his own hips to use and offset some of the energy with a jolt. Goro removed his hands from Akira’s arms with a pleased hum, hearing an unreserved laugh from beneath him.

He smirked as he looked down at Akira, all but a heaving, intoxicated wreck, and knew exactly what he was going to do with him. He slowly withdrew nearly completely from Akira and gave him a firm slap across the face, directing him to look up into those same fire-filled, crazed, lustful eyes.

“Breathe,” he directed.

Akira took a deep gulp of air before the familiar sensation of drowning in helplessness overtook him. Goro thrusted roughly into him, certain he would leave bruises on the backs of Akira’s legs with the sheer force of it, still holding his paramour’s nose and covering his mouth as his movements became less precise and more animalistic. Goro found himself losing more control than he wanted as he felt the body beneath him writhe, but it was when he felt determined fingers scratch down his bare back that he finally lost it, stilling himself as he felt his cock twitch while it filled his partner with streams of cum.

Quickly, Goro removed his hands from Akira’s face, watching him tremble, obviously overwhelmed. As the black-haired boy tried to process the elation of breathing with the strange sensation of being filled with his lover’s fluids, Goro stroked at his dick intently, certain he was on the precipice of coming. Sure enough, the pale boy gasped and keened softly as he spilled himself unceremoniously onto his own stomach. Before the sense of complete relief could take over, Akira found himself subjected to another sensation: a tongue, licking stripes onto his stomach, greedily lapping up his seed with messy lips, followed quickly by a hungry, passionate kiss on the lips. He kissed back sloppily, tasting himself in the mix of salt, rust, and spit he swallowed back between the noisy, searing smacking of their lips.

Goro rested his head on Akira’s chest, ear directly to his heart, and let his body finally go slack atop his lover, both of them sweaty and utterly spent.

* * *

The brunette awoke later, uncertain how much time had passed – and still not entirely sure what he had done. The impressions of images and memories of the feelings of power and ecstasy were there in his mind, certainly, but the actual actions were lost to him, gone like the high he had induced on himself. As his eyes refocused, he could see hideous brown bruises on the familiar ivory skin in his vision. Hurriedly, he rose to look at the full picture: dark, almost bloody marks on Akira’s forearms and wrists, scrape marks from fingers on his thighs that were sure to bruise as well, and a faint trickle of liquid beneath his reddened ass. Mortified, Goro turned his attention to Akira’s upper body again, noting carpet burns along the parts of his back he was able to see without disturbing his rest. The missing bits of hair were what horrified him the most, hammering home that whatever he did was downright brutal. Softly, he took a hand to move Akira’s head from resting on its cheek to examine it, fearful he had done even more damage. “Oh my god,” he whispered, “are you –”

What he saw instead was his sleepy, dazed boyfriend, wearing a soft smile that denoted pure bliss.


	4. Chapter 4

                Kurusu Akira roused from his slumber not from a hand to the face, but a shiver that originated from on top of him. Slowly, he managed to open his eyes, still feeling slightly out of his own body. A mess of sweaty, cinnamon-toned hair caught his eye first, firmly resting on his chest. A hand was anemically gripping at his fingers as if trying to hold on for dear life or sanity, trembling with no sense of rhythm or pattern; the other hand was resting in the crook of his neck, as if its owner had tried to touch his face before succumbing to some unknown force. Sure, Akira knew he was beat up, but something about Goro’s composure told him he was in need of attention quickly.

                The paler boy managed to lift his arm despite the searing, throbbing pain in it to pull the blanket off of the bed, bringing a pillow with it.  He winced as he slowly rose to place it under his head, careful not to wake the person on top of him. Goro forfeited a choked sob unconsciously, still shaking and weakly grabbing at Akira for support. It was something Akira had never seen before – and it worried him. His hands smoothed along Goro’s bare back, rubbing at his sides gently. Akira whispered his name, breathing it delicately as if it were something sacred: “Goro? Are you awake?”

                A low hum from tightly-pressed lips responded.

                “Hey…I’m here,” Akira whispered, draping an arm around his shoulders, careful not to press too much on the forearm. “I’m here…”

                “Are…you alright?” asked Goro in a weak, tiny voice, shivering again. “You looked—”

                “Shh,” Akira replied, running a hand through his hair affectionately. “Are  _you_  okay?”

                Goro’s eyes seemed unfocused, incapable of concentrating on one spot as he looked up from resting on his lover’s chest. His eyes closed again as he drew in another uneven breath, hazily placing his hands on Akira’s shoulders.

                “Goro,” Akira started, trying to keep him in the moment, “can you still hear me?”

                The brown-haired boy shook once more. Akira instinctively pulled him closer, finally bringing the blanket up to them both. The aggression and sadistic malice seemed to have drained from him; in this state, he seemed timid and fragile.

                “Y-yeah,” he explained in a scratchy voice. “This…doesn’t normally happen like this.”

                “What do you mean?”

                “I…really wore myself out,” he replied with a soft laugh before shivering again.

                “And the shaking?”

                “Minor crash….normal,” he responded assuredly, “but this is…more than it was on the ship, definitely…”

                “You’re sure you’re alright?” Akira questioned with a pang of guilt bleeding into his voice.

                “Mhm. Just…stay with me until it’s over. You were too much fun, I guess,” he continued, voice returning to something stronger and closer to normal. “How are you? I tried to check on you before it…all caught up with me…”

                “ _Fantastic,”_ he exhaled.

                “What  _exactly_ did I do to you?” he asked, voice curious and cautious.

                “What  _didn’t_ you do to me?” Akira responded playfully.

                “Did you have to…stop me?”

                “Didn’t need to, didn’t really want to.” A small, unbidden smile formed on his lips.

                “Good.” He sighed with relief, a weight seemingly lifted from his shoulders. “Will you be okay for a few more minutes? You…look pretty bad.”

                “It doesn’t feel as bad as it look—”

                Even in his exhausted state, Goro would have none of it. “It doesn’t  _feel_ bad because you’re still  _strung out._ It’s going to hurt like hell unless I take care of you soon.”

                Akira was still more worried about the youth resting with him. “I’ll be fin—”

                “ _No,”_ Goro snapped back, edge to his voice returning. “This was part of the agreement.”

                The curly-haired boy sighed, shaking his head with resignation and a laugh. Goro was always the more cautious of the two of them, after all.

*             *             *

                “At least the friction burns aren’t that bad,” Goro noted as he slowly applied ointment to Akira’s back, careful not to press too hard into the sensitive skin. “The gauze is coming next, okay?”

                Akira hummed in acknowledgment at the boy behind him very patiently and precisely worked. As loath as the paler boy was to admit it, Goro was right: sure enough, the pain became overwhelmingly apparent about 10 minutes after he  _swore_ it was bearable.  Goro’s decision to move back up to the bed after grabbing the needed materials was one that Akira certainly appreciated. “In case you were wondering,” he explained to his unaware partner, “the burns are from you dragging me on the carpet —”

                “Oh,” he interrupted with a little shame in his voice.

                Akira finished his thought flatly: “one-handed. You nearly tore my leg from the socket.”

                “And you didn’t  _stop_ me?”

                “Wasn’t interested. It was fun.”

                Goro couldn’t help but laugh; the sound was music to Akira’s ears. “You are something else. By the way, how are the bruises doing?”

                “Holding the cold compress to one and somehow balancing a compress on the other,” Akira replied with a sharp intonation, “same as when you asked  _five minutes ago_.”

                “You know, I could really do without your talking,” Goro retorted playfully as he finished dressing the wounds on Akira’s back.

                “Is  _that_ why you held my mouth shut?” Akira asked pointedly.

                “That depends – were you being arrogant and insufferable?” he taunted.

                “Not sure. I was kind of gone.”

                “I’ll take that a yes,” he replied, moving quickly from behind Akira to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

                “So,” Akira started as he turned slightly to look up at Goro, “how are  _you_ feeling?”

                He paused to think, searching for the right words. They came slowly, heavy with intent: “ _Better_.”

                Akira momentarily put the compresses down to turn and face the brown-eyed boy. “Was it fun?”

                That feeling was abundantly clear in his memory. “ _Definitely._ And you’re…okay? Not mad?”

                He flashed a bright, sincere smile. “Does this look mad to you?”

                “Okay, okay…”

                “I told you: I want  _you_. That means the rough stuff, too. I don’t want perfect.”

                “Fine,” he said with a smile in his voice.  For the first time in his life, Akechi Goro felt like those words might actually be true.


End file.
